Sonder
by The Sushi Monster
Summary: n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own - populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries, and inherited craziness \\ Moments surrounding the lives of the Digidestined. REQUESTS TAKEN.
1. The Call of the Prison

**Sonder**

_n__. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you'll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk_ – The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

* * *

**Summary: **Davis learns he didn't really know much about friendship at all – until he finds a stoic TK, staring at a blank wall, his hat squished between his fingers._  
_**Warning(s)/Spoiler(s):** post-2.11 "The Storm of Friendship"  
**Rating**: K+/PG

**Character(s)/Pairing(s): **Davis, TK, _Patamon, Veemon_

**Author's Note:** Since it's been almost five or six years since I've written these characters, and since I hold them all very close to my heart and wish to do their characterization the utmost justice, I'm writing a collection of moments focusing on the Adventure/02 kids. I have a couple of ideas that I want to tackle – namely certain characters and certain dynamics/relationships – but for the most part I'd like to be challenged and therefore **I WILL BE TAKING REQUESTS**. So please, not only leave a review regarding the following moment, but leave a request as well. If you do leave a request, _please_ leave a quote, song, or some sort of prompt for me to follow and not just a character/pairing/etc. I'd especially appreciate if you'd ask for unusual friendships/situations because those are not only more challenging, but are also more fun.

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Digimon or anything else you may recognize.

* * *

**01. The Call of the Prison**

_you were pacing, i was insecure_

He finds TK sitting on the Kamiya's couch, staring at a blank wall, his hat squished between his fingers. Davis frowns; hadn't TK been celebrating their rescue of Agumon with the rest just moments before? Davis steps into the living room and sits on sofa across from the blonde.

"Hey, TS."

TK looks up at the misspelling of his name, used to it by this point, and frowns. "What do you want, Davis?"

"No need to be rude," says Davis, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I come in peace." When TK continues to stare at him blankly, Davis sighs. "I'm sorry about earlier – you know, tackling you and everything. I mean, it turns out you were right anyway."

"Don't worry about it," says TK, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have given you such a hard time anyway – I keep forgetting you're new at all of this." His eyes return to his lap, and his fingers squeeze the fabric in them harder.

Davis notices. "Then what's bothering you?"

"It's just the whole Patamon thing," says TK. "Almost lost him." Davis thinks he hears an added _again_, but decides to ignore it.

"You really care about him, don't you?" It's not really a question, more of an observation, but Davis knows it's an important one.

"Yeah." It's not really an answer, more of an appeasement, but Davis appreciates his effort nonetheless. "And you care about Veemon."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?" There's a little edge in his voice, but it's hidden under some other emotion that Davis can't quite recognize.

Davis looks at his hands; finally he gets a chance to think about the Digi-egg he had acquired and all the implications he had chosen to forget for the moment. "I really care about Veemon, and I know now I would do anything for him. But – friendship? Me?" He shakes his head. "It just doesn't fit."

This, apparently, catches TK's attention and he stares at Davis. "You know, before just now, I would have agreed with you." Davis feels his heart clench and he opens his mouth to retaliate, but TK interrupts him. "But – you came over here to talk to me. You apologized, even though you really didn't need to, and you did just say you care about Veemon." TK shrugs. "Seems like friendship to me."

Davis stares. He doesn't even really _like_ TK – and yet, he's sitting across from him (in the apartment of the girl who probably created the rivalry in the first place) having a personal conversation about things that matter. Like friendship.

"Thanks?" says Davis, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Um, I don't really have friends – not before Veemon – but it just seemed like the right thing to do. We're all on the same team, right?"

TK smiles and it's hinted with some knowledge that unnerves Davis. But he's used to it at this point. "Right," agrees TK. "We're a team – and maybe if you stop jumping on me every time Kari agrees with something I say, we can be actual friends."

Davis narrows his eyes. "We'll see." He pauses for a moment before frowning. "Wait a minute – are we fake friends now or something?"

TK shrugs and puts his hat back on his head. "Or something."

"What – ?" As Davis struggles for the words to say, TK stands up and grins.

"Well, we better join the others. Who knows how much sugar Patamon's eaten by now." Davis watches as the blonde happily walks off, every appearance of his previous sadness faded away. Davis blinks a couple times for before sighing and shaking his head.

While he may not dislike TC completely, the blonde sure knows how to confuse him. Davis sighs, forces himself up, and heads over to the others – his team.

Maybe one day he can finally say _his friends_.


	2. Spinnin'

**Sonder**

_n__. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you'll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk_ – The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

* * *

**Summary: **Whenever Mimi began her magic in the kitchen, TK could not help but watch her dance across tile floors, stirring and mixing and humming, concocting edible items that not satisfied the stomach, but seemed to calm the heart._  
_**Warning(s)/Spoiler(s):** several years post-02  
**Rating**: K+/PG

**Character(s)/Pairing(s): **TK, Mimi

**Author's Note:** Thank for your reviews; however, I cannot fulfill requests that do not give a prompt! Remember, I need something to go off of, not just a character or pairing. Something as simple as a word will do!

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Digimon or anything else you may recognize.

* * *

**02. Spinnin'**

_and i've lost all feelin', everybody singin'_

Whenever Mimi began her magic in the kitchen, TK could not help but watch her dance across tile floors, stirring and mixing and humming, concocting edible items that not only satisfied the stomach, but also seemed to calm the heart. It was a dance choreographed long ago, one that TK never truly learned, complete with the rhythm of pots scraping against marble and the melody of her soft voice. She hadn't always been such a good cook; TK could distinctly remember the odor of burnt cabbage and the texture of bacon as rubber. But over time – and with practice – Mimi's hands began to work magic, and TK was always drawn to her kitchen.

"TK, could you grab the container up on the top self? I think it has some extra spices." Her voice was sudden, stark in comparison to the light ease that had settled. But TK smiled, nodded, and silently retrieved the container. Mimi sighed. "You men and your tall legs." She stuck out her tongue when TK straightened, smirking. "Let's not forget who's making dinner for you tonight," she added, her eyebrows raised.

TK deflated and Mimi laughed at him. "You offered," he said, shrugging. A waft of pineapple and sugar reached him and he felt his mouth watering. "Mmm, whatever it is you're making, it smells delicious."

Mimi beamed. "I hope it tastes just as good! Now get out of the kitchen before I decide to eat everything myself." TK chuckled at her strict tone – Mimi's moods were a whirlwind of switches, but somehow they made her seem more cohesive.

TK sighed as he sat down on his chair again, watching as Mimi opened the oven and pulled out a tray of meat. The saliva in TK's mouth built up again, threatening to overflow. He licked his lips when Mimi covered the tray in a sauce; his stomach growled. "I'm really glad you moved back to Japan, Mimi."

Mimi grinned, her laugh echoing against the sounds of shrills and pops. Her laugh was the climax to a never-ending symphony; her sigh of triumph the dénouement to her concert of cuisine. "You only like me for my cooking." TK did not bother denying her claim; it was untrue, of course, but Mimi knew that better than anyone.

As Mimi laid out dishes filled of food, TK set up plates and forks and spoons, a thrill in his spine and a dance in his stomach. By the time Mimi had finished, TK was staring at the food eagerly, his stomach still rumbling in impatience.

When Mimi sat down gracefully, she pulled a napkin toward her, settled it on her lap, and took a sip of water. Only when she reached for the bowl of vegetables did TK dive for the various items displayed on the kitchen table, ignoring the roll of Mimi's eyes. Once his plate was full, however, he quietly cut up his meat, mixed in his vegetables, and pushed aside his desert.

"So tell me about university," he asked, his fingers occupied with his utensils, but his attention focused solely on his friend.

Mimi smiled before spinning a tale about ruined potatoes, colored pens, and a professor who could not seem to pronounce "cavalry."

Spending time with Mimi had perks, TK believed, but her delicious cooking was only one.


	3. What You're Worth

**Sonder**

_n__. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you'll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk_ – The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

* * *

**Summary: **In which Gatomon apologizes and Gabumon accepts._  
_**Warning(s)/Spoiler(s):** post-1.40 "Enter the Dark Masters"  
**Rating**: K+/PG

**Character(s)/Pairing(s): **Gatomon, Gabumon, _Kari, Matt_

**Author's Note:** Requested by water wolf 100. This was originally a conversation between Gatomon and Tentomon, but I came across a screencap that had Gatomon sitting on Gabumon's head and… well yeah.

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Digimon or anything else you may recognize. I clearly don't own the Digimon partners because I do not have their voices down at all.

* * *

**03. What You're Worth**

_i promise you i will learn from my mistakes_

Gatomon stays in the rear, her eyes locked upon her partner's shoes. She is not going to let Kari out of her sight – it's her duty to protect and that's what she'll do. She's done enough damage by now.

Gatomon is so focused upon her partner that she doesn't notice when suddenly there's a presence beside her. She jumps at the sound of his deep voice, but immediately notes his nervous fidgeting with his fur coat.

"How are you doing?" asks Gabumon. He's not looking at her, rather at Matt, but his steps are synced with hers.

"Fine." She picks up speed a little but Gabumon continues to match her and Gatomon has to sigh. "I'm – I'm sorry, Gabumon."

At this, he has to look at her. "For what?"

"I never apologized before – but I'm really sorry for everything I've done. I mean, I tried to _kill_ – " she breaks off with a shudder.

"You didn't though," says Gabumon. "You could have killed us, you could have killed _her_ – but you didn't."

"I could never have killed Kari," says Gatomon, her voice softer than before. "I wanted to, for that moment – but I just _couldn't._"

Gabumon nods, an unspoken understanding of the bond between Digimon and partner. "And that's why you don't need to apologize. You were alone and scared and confused." He stops for a moment and Gatomon does too, frowning. Gabumon glances back at the group – at Matt – before smiling sadly. "I know that without the others, I would have gone crazy. Searching, for days and months and years, for some unknown piece of myself? For no reason?" He shakes his head and a flash of warmth runs through Gatomon. "You being here with us is more than enough of an apology."

Gatomon smiles. It had only been a little more than a day, but she has already noticed how the other Digimon fit their partner's qualities so well. Gabumon's the digimon of friendship and it's so clear to her that he needs to be the one to reach out to her. She hopes her gratitude is conveyed in her silent nod and smile; Gabumon seems to understand, allowing his pace to speed up again, leaving her to watch the rear once more.

She could feel the part of her heart not already fixed by Kari since Wizardmon's death begin to mend, one part in seven sliding into place. Gatomon lets herself smile once more as she easily caught up with the rest, her place in sixteen uncertain, but existent.


	4. Accusation

**Sonder**

_n__. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you'll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk_ – The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

* * *

**Summary: **In which Ken wants revenge and Iori notices._  
_**Warning(s)/Spoiler(s):** post-"Spirit Needle"  
**Rating**: K+/PG

**Character(s)/Pairing(s): **Ken, Iori, _Yolei_

**Author's Note:** Requested by Boris Yeltsin. I'm actually pretty proud of my portrayal of Iori, but I'm a little iffy on Ken. Thoughts about the characterization are very much welcome!

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Digimon or anything else you may recognize.

* * *

**04. Accusation**

_she's still out to get me_

He watches the dark tower fall, the black dust gathering at his feet. He finds it ironic that the remains appear so much like ashes, remnants of his reign and an unhealthy reminder of all the wrongs he had committed.

Ken smiles at Stingmon, who after letting out a cheer quickly flies over to another imposing spire. But his lips soon fall into a frown at the sight of Hida – Iori, he reminds himself – solemnly nodding towards Digmon. The younger boy is firm, the tension evident in his shoulders and his spine rigidly straight. He's unnerved and cautious; Ken can only feel hurt at the obvious suspicion Iori still holds.

As each control spire falls, the anger in his stomach boils harder. He hates that Iori does not trust him; he hates that Davis and Yolei _do_ trust him. He hates that he can never tell with TK and Kari – he hates that he was a mindless puppet, forced do someone else's evil bidding, preventing him from uniting with the others like he should have. He hates all of it.

The shadow of the Emperor clenches at his heart for a moment but he quick kicks it away – Ken wants revenge now. He wants revenge and he wants redemption and he wants to deserve both.

"You look very angry."

It's the first time Iori has spoken to him without insult and without stiffness. There's still evidence of caution and hesitance and formality – it is Iori, after all – but Ken notices that his hands shake a little and his voice is lower. Iori is nervous.

Ken tries his best to smile, despite the hurt hidden within the green eyes that stare at him, searching. "I just let my thoughts get the best of me."

"Grandpa always says those are the most dangerous moments," says Iori.

"Your grandfather is a wise man."

The silence that follows is uneasy, contrasted with the background noises of drilling and spiking and fallen spires. Iori frowns for a moment before stiffening. "Why were you angry?" Iori tries his best to mask the accusation and fear and other complex emotions no boy of ten should completely understand.

But he fails.

Ken looks up for a moment – the clouds are growing grayer, the sky is growing darker, the landscape is growing cleaner – before sighing. "I was thinking about – about revenge." Ken commends Iori's ability to appear unaffected.

"Revenge on whom?" he asks instead.

"I don't know," says Ken with a small smile. "But whoever it was that controlled me – made me do… do those horrible things…" Ken's words falter but he breathes deeply for a moment. "Whoever it was made me hurt innocent digimon, and that cannot go unpunished."

Ken thinks he sees something akin to shock and understanding on Iori's face, but the younger boy has mastered the art of the mask. "I see," says Iori. "I wish you good luck."

Iori walks back to Digmon – who de-digivolves as Yolei runs over to them – leaving Ken alone with only Stingmon. His digimon returns to his lower form as well, and Ken wordlessly scoops him up.

"What was that about, Ken?" asks Wormmon.

"I'm not really sure, Wormmon," says Ken, his eyes still focused upon Iori. "But I hope it was a good thing."


	5. Sunset

**Sonder**

_n__. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you'll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk_ – The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

* * *

**Summary: **Her eyes glittered with a mixture of affection and compassion, and his heart beat a little faster._  
_**Warning(s)/Spoiler(s):** post-"Diaboromon Strikes Back"  
**Rating**: K+/PG

**Character(s)/Pairing(s): **Yamato, Sora, Yamato/Sora

**Author's Note:** Inspired by messages received and responded to by f*yeahsorato on Tumblr.

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Digimon or anything else you may recognize.

* * *

**05. Sunset**

_the truth cuts us and pulls us back up_

He awoke suddenly, his neck immediately throbbing in soreness. It took him a moment to recognize the floral patterns on the drapery and the deep blue of the sofa he lay on; but with one glance at the woman curled up in the armchair, Yamato allowed himself to smile, recognition flooding him.

"Where's Tai?" he asked softly, hoping not to startle her.

She was already awake, thankfully; she looked surprised at first, but her wide eyes quickly softened. "He left ten minutes ago to head home. I'm surprised he woke up before you," she said, straightening to pay him more attention. Her eyes glittered with a mixture of affection and compassion, and his heart beat a little faster.

"Yeah, well, he probably just wanted to sleep in his own bed," said Yamato. He sat up, rolling his neck around to stretch the tense muscles. Sora rolled her eyes before sitting beside him and running her thumbs down his neck to his shoulders. "Hmm, I love you, you know that?"

"I like it hearing it every so often, yes," said Sora and he could hear her smile. "But you deserve it – you guys did save the world after all."

"Been there, done that," said Yamato with a small wave, closing his eyes and leaning back into Sora. "It's really not all that exciting."

Sora just laughed and shook her head, giving her boyfriend a small kiss on his temple. He sighed, though, when his eyes landed on their photo album. A collection of pictures of their various adventures, both alone as couple and together with the others, their album was a private keepsake that Sora loved dearly. It pained him to think that the world had seen an intimate part of their life.

"I'm sorry," he said, closing his eyes; the image of them walking down the street, displayed on Izzy's projector, burned behind his eyelids.

Sora frowned. "Why are you apologizing?"

"That picture wouldn't have been on the internet in the first place if it wasn't for the band."

"Yamato," she said, lifting her hands to his shoulders and forcing him to turn to face her, "it is not your fault. And it's okay that there is a picture or two of us floating on the Internet. Both of us rather not have cameras following us all day long, so it's okay if they have an innocent picture. Okay?"

"You're not upset about it?" he asked, his eyes staring at her.

"I was at first," she said honestly. "But I was more concerned with making sure the rest of you were okay, that Diaboromon was defeated, that it didn't really matter. So no," she said with a smile and full eyes, "I am not upset about it."

"Okay," he said simply. His left hand moved over to his right, turning the metal ring on his middle finger. The reminder of the cool silver on his skin was calming; he took a deep breath.

"I'm glad you like it so much," said Sora, eyeing the ring. "I was afraid you'd think it was, well…"

Yamato's lips quirked upwards. "Stupid? Of course not, Sora." He placed a lock of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger in her hair and on her skin. "I love it."

"More than me?" she said again, her smile betraying any hint of seriousness.

"Way more than you," he said, leaning in for a brief kiss. He felt her smile beneath his lips before pulling back sharply. "What?"

Sora headed to her kitchen and while out of sight, Yamato could hear the clashing of ceramic and glass. "I've been away all summer and I have every intention of getting caught up. Since one of my best friends sleeps like a rock and the other one said she was messing with Izzy and had plans with TK and Kari… that leaves you, boyfriend."

"I'm sure this boyfriend of yours would love to catch you up on all that you have missed."

"I'm sure he would, Matt. I'm sure he would." Sora returned with two glasses of iced tea, and Yamato grinned at her. "So what_ did _I miss?"

"Did Mimi tell you about what happened when Davis went to visit her in America?"

"No, she was too busy telling me about how she was going to approach – uh, no, she didn't," she quickly said.

Yamato raised an eyebrow but continued. "Well apparently he met someone there."

"A girl?" asked Sora, her eyes brightened by the sunset in the window.

Yamato grinned. "Her name is Natsu… except, get this – apparently Natsu is really Natsu_mon…"_


	6. A Windstorm

**Sonder**

_n__. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you'll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk_ – The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

* * *

**Summary: **Thirteen years. _This_, Taichi believes, is something worth celebrating about._  
_**Warning(s)/Spoiler(s):** None.  
**Rating**: T/PG

**Character(s)/Pairing(s): **Ensemble.

**Author's Note:** HAPPY ANNIVERSARY! Hope you had a digitally-filled August 1st, 2012. All requests are being worked on as inspiration and time allows. I'll get to them eventually.

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Digimon or anything else you may recognize.

* * *

**06. A Windstorm**

_you gotta put those demons in their place_

* * *

_help._

He feels selfish for only a moment; there's a pang of regret at the sight of castaway documents, of forsaken responsibilities, of unfinished plans. But the feeling fades quickly when he spots the formal invitation, hand-written and carefully decorated; the effort in the creation is clearly evident.

Daisuke pockets the worn and broken goggles without thought before leaving. They are weightless and he forgets they are there until the moment when he remembers everything: he remembers flesh turning to data in selfless sacrifice; he remembers silent tears and broken the heart of spirit trapped in a world he did not belong; he remembers buried demons and permanent shadows only conquered by the bonds he helped forged with the eleven beside him.

He swings open the door to this year's venue – a rented reception area, intimate enough for their purposes – and smiles when their faces brighten.

* * *

_sky._

It is the thirteenth anniversary, yet it is only the third time it has rained.

Sora finds the water that stains the sidewalks a calming tether to the reality around. She knows how easy it is for the twelve of them to forget everything except each other; she knows how easy it is for them all to remember the past on that day. She believes the rain makes them remember the present.

The way her heart calms when her hand is interlocked with his, and the way her smile falls off her face at her best friend's laugh, and the way goose-bumps line her skin when their youngest speaks – it excites her about the present and the future, the pitter-patter of her heartbeats in time with the raindrops that fall from the sky outside.

* * *

_intelligence._

He always fails to believe that the card traced in gold and signed carefully in ink is for him. He cannot comprehend why he is consistently invited to a private event, an intimate affair, one only attended by friends closer than most. He no longer voices his concern, for Miyako lectures him when he gets what she deems the _Look_. Each year he feels a little more convinced of his worth, but a little less of his dominance.

Ken finds he is okay with that.

On their tenth year – for he counts in years of the second team, of Daisuke's team, because someone has to – he uses his new connections to track down those who share the dark spore embedded within their spines. He gathers them together, conducts a small ceremony of their own, remembering lives lost and saved. They share their dreams, their goals, their successes and Ken feels proud that they seem to have bonded in much the same way that he has with the others.

To himself, Ken mourns the dark seeds – but not due to the loss of intelligence and glory and perfection. He mourns them in gratitude; for without them, he would not receive a golden invitation and spend his evening in the company of the best.

* * *

_child._

His newest laptop paints his face in electric light, brightening his features to those of a child. The anticipation of the night builds in his stomach, and although his focus still belongs to the clicks of the keyboard and the patterns of the touchpad, his intuition has grown over the years: he feels rather than knows that bodies walk behind him, glancing over, curious but not overtly so. They are used to his odd ways and he loves that they accept him for it.

Izzy's finger glides over silver pad, the cursor flying over pictures and text. His grin grows; the pride that fills him every year as his new project evolves is almost bursting, although not quite complete. The progress they have achieved in thirteen relatively short years – Izzy is not the ambitious one of the group, but even he can hope for Noble Prize recognition.

Later, he grins as the projector lights up not only his face, but also eleven others', their astonishment, hope, and glee mirrored in his own eyes.

* * *

_capitol._

She and Mimi had begun the tradition on the fifth anniversary; the invitations are handcrafted, painstakingly made without digital devices or shortcuts. It's their attempt to contribute, offering a piece of humanity to their otherworldly day.

Miyako loves the spirit that fills the room; it's an amalgam of joy and sadness and peace and love and apprehension and pride and nostalgia and gratitude. After the end of 2002, there are three hundred and sixty four days of the year where Miyako feels ordinary; on August 1st, she remembers how special they are, that they are _Chosen_, and the atmosphere and the emotion and the company make her heart and soul feel like one.

It is here, in that room with Ken and Daisuke and Takeru and Hikari and Iori and Taichi and Yamato and Sora and Mimi and Koushiro and Jyou – it is here that she feels whole. Her heart is the meeting of emotion and action, of _passion_, and it takes only a simple phrase to leave their leader's lips for silence to take over.

Shivers line her heart, pillars protecting the capitol of the extraordinary day.

* * *

_patriotism._

"It's time."

It's cliché but effective, a common combination for his best friend. Yamato feels a heavy silence spread quickly, a single breath rippling against the tide of stillness. They convene to reminiscence and re-bond; the strengthening of bonds continues perpetually forever, but it is finally time for the reminiscing.

Yamato stands first, Mimi joining him only a second later. He releases the hand of one woman for the other, but while one holds the romantic part of his heart, the other holds an equally important platonic part. He should know – he is the Chosen of Friendship.

Mimi's never been good with suppressing her tears; Yamato squeezes her hand, closes his eyes, and breathes deeply. He silently sings an anthem of gratitude and sacrifice, mentally honoring all those who he is about to name. Mimi speaks first – softly and sincerely – retelling the story crafted nine years ago, on their second official meeting.

Yamato leaves his eyelids closed as her voice sings; her voice is so melodious, he can imagine the silent breathing of his friends as the rhythmic beats of a drum, and the steading hum of the air conditioner as the quiet chords of a bass. His own quiet anthem is the harmony line, emphasizing and highlighting, while embellishing and enhancing. Mimi finishes with a bolder "and we will remember them for not only their role in the healing of two worlds, but also for their kind hearts and pure souls, strengthened by their imperfections."

It's now his turn. He finds this the hardest part; he finds that every year his throat constricts when he tries to speak. But every year he digs out the words, the names, and recites.

"Wizardmon," he says. Hikari lights her candle.

"Oikawa," he says. Iori releases the white flower in his hand beside Hikari's candle.

It continues, name after name, and Yamato's voice grows hoarse. But Mimi is beside him, and while she does and says nothing, her mere presence is strength enough. _Their _presence – the eleven bodies that surround him – is strength enough. It reminds him why they did what they did.

He fought for the love of his friends; he fought for the survival of two worlds, urged by the friendship of the twelve in the room, and the twelve a world away.

* * *

_light._

Her tears have long stopped flowing and instead she dawns a small, tired smile and a heavy heart. She aches for her companion by her side, but she knows that in the end, her best friend – her soulmate, in the purest sense of the word – celebrates and mourns just as she does.

The flames of several candles dance behind a backdrop of darken skies; they illuminate several bouquets of flowers, each a symbol for a fallen friend, a sacrifice never forgotten. Hikari's mind calmly processes the recited words of her brother – a last goodbye for the year, a reminder of the possibilities in the future – but her eyes remain fixed upon the dancing flames.

Their light is so joyous; it fills her with peace and hope and desire to keep going and to keep _doing_.

She lets her eyes close for brief moments; she knows that beside her most of the others do the same. The image of flickering fire remains burned behind her eyelids, but with a few deep breathes, the cool tide of contentment washes over her.

Her eyes open to the sight of her deeply breathing family, and Hikari believes that the smile that slides across her lips is mirrored in each of their own.

* * *

_stature._

The talking begins all at once, a mixture of laughter and sighs and excitement. It's the part of the evening that Jyou neither enjoys nor dislikes, for it is the social aspect that he neither embraces nor rejects. He watches as Taichi and Daisuke begin to outline the progression of their careers and education; Taichi shares to Miyako the finer details of diplomacy, while Daisuke strikes Mimi's interest with his latest business venture. Jyou hears snippets of conversation from his right, where Izzy explains his discovery after offering congratulations to the engaged Yamato and Sora.

Jyou remains the pillar of support, absorbing the sharing of information that surrounds him. He smiles at Iori when the boy – now a young man, working on a pre-law degree – sits besides him; Iori says not a word to Jyou, just casting a small smile in the older's direction before recomposing his series expression. Like him, Iori watches, and Jyou's heart fills with pride. They are all a disciplined machine, each lever pushed and each gear turning, their stature as a _family_ more evident on these days than most.

* * *

_mountain._

Many years, Takeru feels there is a mountain in the middle of the room.

It is not an elephant or a molehill, but a mountain built of tension and despair, created by miscommunication and apprehension. It's cultivated over the year, through months of torturous avoidance and tears; and yet it's destroyed in a few moments, deconstructed by mere looks, mere smiles, and mere apologies.

Their bonds are stronger than most. Their bonds are stronger than _that_.

Takeru knows this well; he's been a source of a mountain range in years past. But on Anniversary Thirteen, careers and ambitions have dominated conversations, although there is a spare announcement tossed out about a long-awaited engagement. But Takeru, like the others, offers congratulations on another day, so to keep today about their friendships – those of the present, the future, and the past.

Takeru is the one who signals the toast this year. He is too lighthearted to resist.

* * *

_truth._

The truth of the matter is: Mimi lives for August 1st.

She lives to cook her latest recipes and newest concoctions for the others. She lives to hear the latest news and catch up on her closest friends' lives. She lives for the day where she finally knows everything about her friends' emotions once more, and she no longer feels lost.

For the only times Mimi feels _extra_ special – like she's important, like she's truly needed – is on August 1st.

Mimi knows her friends love her; she knows deep in her heart that they'd do anything for her – they have already, they do now, and they will in the future – and she'd gladly do the same. But doubts continue to linger, and she hesitates to fully believe that she is a missing piece, fitting within a puzzle only they can complete.

Yet – when Sora squeezes her hand and asks her how to make the spinach dip because she wants some for the wedding, when Iori asks her whether four months is too soon to take a girl to meet his parents, when Ken wordlessly hands over a translated letter from Ogremon: then she knows the truth. She knows her home is Japan, her home is in her kitchen, her home is with these closest friends, doing her best to help them be happy.

* * *

_cloth_.

Iori was the one to build the final tradition for their anniversaries.

He is always the last one done eating; he has learned to excuse wasted food, but he is patient and reserved, preferring to savor food for its taste rather than merely its nutrient contents. So he's the last one to lower his fork, retrieve his napkin, and wipe away food particles from his lips with the soft cloth. It is only when he stands, full and finished, that he walks to the front.

It is immediately silent. It has always unnerved him how his presence – his small, serious presence – reigns in the wayward minds of the room. He is their youngest, but their level of respect humbles him even further with each passing day.

With a sigh and a rare smile, he begins: he wishes them well, sends his regards to their missing companions, and presses the button. Iori's eyes remain transfixed upon the screen as the pictures flash before him.

* * *

_one._

They all know Izzy's outdone himself again this year. The gray-scale pictures of remembrance are forgone this year in favor of the simplicity of the earlier ceremony, but what remain are the vibrant reminders of what they live for.

Taichi rarely, if ever, cries; but on August 1st, he feels his stomach stirring and his head pounding and his heart clenching. He feels his eyes burning and his nose tickling and his lips quivering. He feels outpours of silent emotions that ache to be released, but instead hover on the surface. It's everything he ever felt on their tumultuous journey those thirteen years ago – only tenfold.

When the light fades and Izzy's presentation ends, Taichi is filled with hope. He has always believed in his oldest friend, but until that moment he has never loved Izzy more. For the intelligent and curious mind has crafted brilliance, and Taichi is proud that they are the first to witness it. Taichi sees visions of widespread joy and companionship amongst every child and his heart wishes to burst.

He grins instead, his bright laugh easing away the silence left behind. "_Finally._ Now everyone can have this too."

Taichi doesn't need to look around to know that they are all one in their thoughts at that moment: _this, _as in their courage and their friendship and their hope and light and love and purity and integrity and knowledge and kindness and passion and wisdom and determination. _This_, Taichi believes, is something worth celebrating about.


	7. Wind

**Sonder**

_n__. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you'll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk_ – The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

* * *

**Summary: **Only Mimi would drag him into a flower shop on a Saturday morning, in any case.

**Warning(s)/Spoiler(s):** None.  
**Rating**: K+/G

**Character(s)/Pairing(s): **Taichi, Mimi

**Author's Note:** Requested by Water Fairy a.k.a. Mizu's: Taichi, Mimi, and flowers. Hope you enjoy!

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Digimon or anything else you may recognize.

* * *

**07. Wind**

_we're gonna rattle this ghost town_

Taichi's never been good with smells and odors and when he's surrounded by roses and tulips and lilies and god knows what other types of floral creatures, his nose tickles with an impending sneeze and Mimi knows it.

"Bless you," she says, her eyes never leaving the purple lilac in her fingers. "You could have waited outside, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," says Taichi after sneezing into his elbow and running a hand through his hair. He doesn't bother giving his excuse – Mimi doesn't care, he doesn't really need to, and he's distracted by the shiny, bright hues of an arrangement of yellow roses. He admits he only recently began to find flowers interesting; he entirely blames Sora, but Mimi's not innocent.

Only Mimi would drag him into a flower shop on a Saturday morning, in any case.

"So who are the flowers for anyway?" he asks, straying over to a collection of orange and red arrangements. The fiery colors evoke sudden warmth that floods through his veins; his lips stretch into a comfortable smile. He turns back to his companion, who still studies various purple flowers. "Hello, Mimi? Any one home?"

"Hm?" says Mimi, her attention fleetingly on Taichi.

"Who are you buying flowers for?"

A rosy tint overtakes Mimi's cheeks and her eyes brighten. "They're for my aunt," she says. "I wanted to thank her for always letting me stay whenever I visit." Her face falls for a moment, but she shakes her head with a smile quickly. "I can't believe I'm leaving tomorrow."

Taichi frowns. "Wait, you're leaving tomorrow?" Mimi's eyes narrow and Taichi remembers the effect her moods have on him – her eyes steer him through the storm of his emotions – before gulping. "I mean – I knew that!"

Mimi shakes her head, but she struggles to prevent herself from grinning, much to Taichi's pleasure. "Of course you did, Taichi." She's been standing by the same bundle of flowers without moving for quite a while, so he's sure that's she made up her mind – _finally _– and he's proven correct when she picks up the bouquet with an appreciative smile.

"Perfect?" he says, impressed with the way the combination of lavender and pink petals, dark green leaves, and a tree-like structure constrict his chest, a wind of delicate, fresh intimacy.

"Perfect," says Mimi. She bites her lip, once again reminded of something that dampens her spirits, and Taichi doesn't like it.

"What's wrong?"

Mimi sighs but Taichi catches her slight amusement in the way he notices these things now. "I'm going to miss you guys." She looks down, her thumb running over the stems in her hand. "I always look forward to my next trip back here – back _home_ – and dread leaving again."

Taichi crosses his arms over his chest, taking steps closer to her. "Mimi, I think you know what that means."

And suddenly she's standing straight, determined, the flowers held firmly in her hand almost sparkling. "Of course I do. Doesn't mean I can do anything about it," she says, turning away from him and towards the front counter.

Mimi's only halfway there when he catches up, a hand on her shoulder. She stops, her hair falling on her shoulders, tickling the skin on the back of his hand. She looks up at him; he softly smiles at her.

"We'll always be here, okay, Meems? We've gone through too much to not be friends forever," says Taichi seriously – his _I mean what I'm saying and I'm the leader so this is probably important_ voice – and he's happy when she nods, a certain light returning to her eyes.

"I know, Taichi," she says. Her eyes fall on a white bellflower. She opens her mouth to say something else, but Taichi shakes his head.

"Anytime," he says with a shrug. Mimi understands, her eyes glittering, and tightens her grip on her bouquet instead. His hand falls back to his side, and quietly they head towards the counter once more. When they leave, Mimi's purchased gift in her arms and Taichi's hands stuffed back in his pockets as he struggles with returned fatigue, a bundle of pear blossoms catch his eye.

Taichi grins.


End file.
